


Life You Used to Lead

by xPhoenixFlamex



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, John is the narrator, Presumed Dead, also happy birthday alex!, basically they all think alex is dead, but he's not, even though it's based on a true story, it can be lams but it can just be friendship, it depends on how you view it, well actually its more like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:57:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9295313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xPhoenixFlamex/pseuds/xPhoenixFlamex
Summary: Title from the cut song, 'Unto Revolution'// Based on a historical event, where Alexander was mistakenly reported as dead after a battle.John angsts, but then Alexander returns.Written in honor of Alexander's birthday![Originally posted on fanfiction.net]





	

John Laurens is the first to hear the news.

 

He was aide-de-camp with Alexander. He had eagerly meet the returning soldiers, since he had  _ finally  _ solved a problem he and Alexander had been working for so long to fix.

 

Now, Alexander was typically the first one back. He liked to lead his returning soldiers home, talking of their victory. He would then weave through them, talking with and encouraging them.

 

But now, Alexander was nowhere in sight.

 

John reasoned with himself two of the likely scenarios. One - Alexander was simply having an argument with another of the soldiers, and was in a different part of the group. The second was that he had been injured, probably in the leg, and was therefore in the back.

 

But as he stood there, waiting, a third option began to creep it's way into his mind and take root. He tried to shake it off, but it was stubborn.

 

He finally grabbed a soldier and pulled him aside.

 

“Where is Colonel Hamilton?” He asked him seriously.

 

The man looked fatigued, and at his words he looked even more tired. He saw recognition flash through the man's eyes, instantly followed by regret, “He is not with us, sir. We were forced to retreat. Our scouts reported seeing him among the dead, sir.”

 

John froze, ice flowing through his veins.

 

“Thank you for telling me. I will go inform the General.” He managed to get out, before instantly turning so none of them could see the tears that began to well in his eyes. He sucked in a deep breath, before making his way slowly, but determinedly, to General Washington’s tent.

 

He brushed the tears away with his sleeve. When he got close to the tent, he hoped that he would hear Alexander’s voice. That there had been a mistake, and Alexander was already giving his report.

 

There was a quiet murmuring when he grew close, but he recognize the voice that was speaking to the General as his other friend, Lafayette.

 

He hesitated at the entrance. 

 

_ Alexander Hamilton is dead. _

 

How could he go in there and say that? 

 

Tears began to start again, just as Lafayette appeared in the opening, leaving. He stopped when he saw John, who was clearly about to enter. John put his head down quickly, so that his tears would be hidden.

 

He turned his head to call back, “John Laurens is here,” Typically, status would be part of the introduction. However, no one could convince Lafayette to use formalities to that extent when he was talking between two friends.

 

“Send him in.” General Washington called.

 

Lafayette moved to slip deftly pass him, but John grabbed his arm. “You need to hear this too,” John said, and he met Lafayette’s eyes. Lafayette looked at the tears there, and dread filled his face.

 

John walked into the tent, bowing respectfully to the General.

 

General Washington looked between them, and then at John’s face. “What has happened?”

 

“The soldiers are back,” John said. “Colonel Hamilton’s.”

 

He watched the blood drain from both Lafayette’s face, and from the General’s.

 

“No,” Lafayette whispered, but John continued.

 

“They said,” His voice caught in his throat. He looked at the fear in their faces, and dreaded the words that he had to say, “Their scouts reported Alexander among the dead.” It was proper to use his title. But why? What was the point? Alex was  _ dead _ .

 

General Washington’s face hardened, while Lafayette’s filled with rage. He started hissing obscenities in French at a rapid pace, while pacing back and forth.

 

John suddenly felt exhausted, and all but collapsed on Lafayette side, causing the Frenchman to stop. He held Lafayette’s shoulder to support him as the ground moved underneath him.

 

“He was the closest friend I've ever had,” John murmured.

 

Before meeting Alexander, John couldn't imagine caring about someone so much you would risk your life for them. 

 

When he talked to Alexander, he would have easily died for him.

 

But now Alexander was the one dead, and John was alone.

 

Sure, he was friend with Hercules and Lafayette, but the nature of their relationship was different. They had all been drinking friends. People who you enjoyed to talk to and hang out with, but didn't go out of your way to do this.

 

Alexander was different. He had a way with words that John had never seen before. He was passionate, dedicated, energetic…

 

_ …dead. _

 

The world seemed to blur around him, and he was dimly aware of Lafayette saying something to the General, before leading him out of the tent. He led John to the tent John once shared with Alexander.

 

_ Not anymore.  _ His mind whispered at him.

 

Lafayette helped him sit in a hard chair in the corner and  _ damn it  _ it didn't help. This was  _ Alexander’s  _ chair. It was the chair he had seen the man in last, scribbling out another letter to someone.

 

“Laf…” he whispered, swallowing thickly, “why was it him?”

 

Lafayette shook his head, “I don't know, my friend.” He said quietly, grief clear in his voice

 

“He has the most to lose!” John exclaimed. “He has Eliza! Goddammit, why wasn't it me? It should have been  _ me. _ ”

 

“Don't talk like that!” Lafayette told him, grabbing him by the shoulders. “You have a right to life. Alexander did too. You are not less important than him. Equality. Isn't that what you've been fighting for?” He then quieted down, “I mourn him too,  _ mon ami. _ I wish he was here. He'd be sitting down, writing a hundred words a second while ranting about how much he despises Lee.”

 

Lafayette sighed when John was silent. He then stood, “I must go speak with General Washington. Try and get some rest,  _ s’il vous plaît.”  _

 

John nodded numbly, and Lafayette left the tent.

 

John stood and walked over, before collapsed on his cot. He was exhausted, but sleep would not come. Every time he felt himself drift away a thought would slam into his head like a stab from a bayonette.

 

_ “Who will tell Eliza?” _

 

_ “What were his last thoughts?” _

 

_ “What were his last words?” _

 

The questions tormented him, driving sleep away. He finally stood, and walked out of the tent. 

 

A few hours had passed since he had waited for Alexander to return, and the sky was darkening. He walked over to the edge of camp and sat down. He knew that to a hundred or so meters to his right, a night watchman was there, making sure the redcoats had not found them.

 

He did not care.

 

He sat there, looked at the sky, and let his tears fall.

 

He felt alone in the world.

 

_ Alexander Hamilton is dead. _

 

He could recall when he first met the man. He had been out with Lafayette and Hercules, drinking away the night. He had drunkenly called Aaron Burr over, hardly noticing the shorter man that was with him.

 

Until the man opened his mouth.

 

_ “If you stand for nothing, Burr, what’ll you fall for?”  _ He had spoken quickly, but each word rang in John ears loud and clear.

 

_ “Who are you?”  _ He had asked.

 

_ “I'm Alexander Hamilton. There's a millio _ n  _ I haven't done, but I'm not throwing away my shot. Just you wait.”  _ Alexander had replied, energy flowing through him. And John couldn't help but listen to every single syllable that passed through his lips.

 

They had spent that night together - drinking, laughing, exchanging stories and dreams. They stayed at that bar until they were kicked out, and then walked the streets of the city. They had been drunk as hell, giving them a horrible hangover the next day. But every time the pain in his head flared, he’d think of Alexander’s words and he’d smile. He’d smile like an idiot.

 

_ And now Alexander won’t ever smile again. _

 

God, did John’s mind love to torment him.

 

He lay there on the wet grass, staring at the moon and the stars. It was a cruelly beautiful night.

 

Then he heard footsteps.

 

He it was coming from outside the camp towards him. He didn't bother look up. There was a lookout near him that would shout in warning or shoot if it was a red coat.

 

He simply closed his eyes. He didn't want to deal with anyone.

 

“John?”

 

No.

 

_ No. _

 

His mind was playing a cruel trick on him, making him think that was Alexander’s voice. It couldn't be. It wasn't.

 

Alexander was dead.

 

“John? Are you awake?”

 

It couldn't be.

 

“John!”

 

It had to be.

 

He opened his eyes, and saw  _ Alexander Hamilton  _ there, alive and breathing.

 

“Am I dreaming?” He asked softly.

 

The man looked at him confused, “Why the hell would you think that? What are you doing out here?”

 

Alexander was covered in scratches and dirt, complete with a makeshift sling on his left arm. It was dirty, but not bloody.

 

He stood up, “The soldiers said you died. Saw you fall in battle.”

 

Alexander’s eyes widened in surprise, before reaching out to touch John with his good arm.

 

“I'm real, I assure you.” He said, grabbing John by the shoulder. “My horse was shot out from under me, and I broke my wrist, not to mention was knocked out. But I'm here. I'm alive.”

 

John just stared, before embracing the man in a hug. He was mindful of Alexander's injuries.

 

“I can't believe you're alive,” He whispered. “I didn't believe it at first - I couldn't. But you  _ weren't  _ there and…and they said…” 

 

“It's fine, John, I'm here. A bit battered, but I'm here.” Alexander quietly assured him. “I have to give a report to the General. I overheard some things and I acquired this,” he reached into his torn blue jacket with his good arm, pulling out some documents.

 

“He's in his tent with Lafayette still, I think.” He told him, before carefully guiding him there. There were whispers and smiles of the soldiers around them as Alexander was seen by them.

 

_ He's alive. He's here.  _ A smile crept onto John’s face as they paused at the entryway to the General’s tent.

 

“Sir? May I enter?” He called out.

 

Lafayette suddenly appeared, “I told you to get some  _ rest, mon ami. _ ” He said, before he saw Alexander at his side. “ _ Impossible.”  _ He whispered.

 

“Can we come in?” Alexander asked quietly, sounding tired.

 

Lafayette dumbly moved out of the way, allowing the pair to enter.

 

John saw Washington stand. There were two cups, probably full of whisky, on his desk. “Alexander…” he whispered.

 

“My horse was shot out from under me and I was knocked unconscious. It seems like your reports are false.” Alexander said amusedly.

 

The reunion was heartwarming, and John could have  _ sworn  _ that he saw a tear in General Washington’s eye at one point.

 

Alexander was patched up properly, and it was discovered he had simply dislocated his rest. He was given instructions to not use it for at least a few days, which he readily agreed to, since it wouldn’t affect his writing. He was also given a proper meal, and John even left the tent so his friend could get a proper rest.

 

He breathed the cold night air, too much adrenaline coursing through him for him to be tired.

 

“You should get some sleep,” A quiet voice behind him remarked.

 

He raised an eyebrow, before turning. “That’s rich, coming from you. I thought you were sleeping.”

 

Alexander shrugged, “I couldn’t sleep knowing you were out here,” He admitted.

 

John grinned, “I’ll be there in a second,” He told him, before looking back at the stars.

 

There was silence for a moment, “It’s a nice night out,” Alexander breathed, moving so he was standing next to John. “You know, for a moment I thought I was dead. I was so out of it and everyone around me was dead…” Alexander sighed, “I didn’t think I was going to make it back to camp without being shot.”

 

John turned to look at his friend seriously. “Don't you  _ dare _ die, Hamilton.” He hissed, and the sudden venom in his statement surprised the other man.

 

“We are at  _ war _ , Jo-”

 

John grabbed his shoulder and held him at arm’s length, looking him dead in the eye. “No. Don't say anything. You're are not allowed to die in this war, Alexander. I won't let you. What would happen to the General if you died? Lafayette?  _ Eliza?”  _ He paused, “Me?”

 

Alexander looked at him, and John could have rolled his eyes, “Oh come on, Alexander. You're the closest friend I've ever had. Do you think I'd duel against Charles Lee, a man who outranks and is older than me by quite a bit, just for anyone? If you die, then a part of me dies with you.” His voice cracked, “Please don't die.” 

 

His face looked shocked, but it slowly softened. “I won't die John. I promise. I'll stay alive.”

 

John embraced him.

 

“I'll stay alive for you, John.”

 

John closed his eyes, and knew he would be unable to do the same.

 

_ Just stay alive, Alexander. _

 

_ For me.  _

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is xphoenixwritingx.tumblr.com scream at me there please


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